


Catch a Dragon by the Tail

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [102]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Era, Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Arthur looked quite beautiful in this light. Not that there was any light in which Arthurdidn’tlook beautiful; Merlin had noticed how gorgeous Arthur was practically the moment he’d set eyes on him. If he weren’t such a prat, Merlin would have kissed him long ago and damned the consequences. In fact, if he just came a little closer, Merlin would grab hold of him right now and—and—Oh. Ohshit.OR: Merlin and Arthur in a field full of aphrodisiacs. It ends about as well as you'd expect.





	Catch a Dragon by the Tail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitty_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitty_fic/gifts).



> Dear Kitty. Remember when you gave me that sex pollen prompt on LJ? And it took me a year or so to fill it? Yeah...

 

The first hint Merlin had that there was something terribly wrong was when Arthur kissed him.

 

“Whoa, wait, Arthur what—?” Merlin wrenched himself out of Arthur’s grip and stumbled back, panting a little as he wiped his mouth. “What the hell was that for?” 

 

When Arthur didn’t answer, but merely continued to stare at him in a dazed sort of way, Merlin looked more closely into the prince’s face. His expression looked—odd. Sort of shiny and glazed, as if he wasn’t quite in focus. “Arthur? Are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” Arthur said, though he sounded distracted. He reached out a hand and ran his thumb over Merlin’s bottom lip, staring at his mouth with unnerving intensity. “I just…um. Your mouth. I had to…”

 

He blinked, hard, and when he next met Merlin’s gaze he looked more than a little panicked. “I don’t think I meant to do that.”

 

“Okay.” Merlin felt for Arthur’s forehead to check his temperature. He was warm and his cheeks were pink, but no more so than might be expected after a long hike in the early morning sun. Certainly nowhere near the kind of feverish that might explain why he had suddenly decided to up and snog his manservant in the middle of nowhere. “Well, I don’t think you’re sick,” Merlin said doubtfully. “But—”

 

“I don’t feel well,” Arthur said. He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “It’s like…I feel dizzy. And my head…” 

 

The fact that he even hinted at being under the weather convinced Merlin that he must be feeling even worse than he let on. Arthur never admitted weakness if he could help it, and now he’d just done so voluntarily. Anxiously, Merlin glanced around them. They were in the middle of a field, somewhere in between Camelot and Gawant—aside from a few distant mountains and forests, there was nothing more threatening in the vicinity than a few flowers, their bright pink heads bobbing in the breeze. More importantly, there was no one around who could help them, and Merlin didn’t want to take the risk of dealing with an ill and/or strangely amorous prince all by himself. 

 

“We’re not that far from Camelot,” Merlin said. “If we turn around now, we should make it back to the castle before nightfall. Do you think you’re up to walking?”

 

But Arthur was frowning. “I have to…there’s something I have to do,” he said. “In Gawant. Isn’t there?”

 

“Don’t you remember?” Merlin felt the first real frisson of alarm. If something was affecting Arthur’s memory, then it could be serious, even if he didn’t have a fever. Gaius had told him once about the many things that could injure a man’s brain beyond repair, all of them no less deadly or insidious for being invisible to the naked eye. “We were invited to Princess Elena’s wedding.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur said imperiously, sounding for a moment almost like his old self. “If we’re going to a state wedding, then where’s the royal retinue?”

 

Merlin swallowed hard. “You wanted to go on ahead, sire,” he reminded Arthur, trying not to let his unease bleed through into his voice. “You said the column was taking too long to get ready, and you wanted to stretch your legs after being cooped up in the castle for so long. The rest are supposed to catch us up with the horses later this afternoon. Do you honestly not remember?” 

 

“Of course I remember,” Arthur snapped, but he didn’t sound certain. He turned back the way they’d come, a vague look of confusion crossing his face. “However, perhaps it would be best if we turn back. I’m really not…” He trailed off without finishing the sentence, and Merlin took that as his cue to get them both back to Gaius, and fast. 

 

“Here, lean on me,” he said, looping an arm around Arthur’s waist. The prince wrapped his own arm around Merlin’s shoulders, leaning against him heavily, and they set off in the direction of the citadel at a lumbering walk, seed pods and fragile flower stems crunching underfoot. 

 

They might have been all right if Merlin hadn’t tripped. There was something buried in the long grass—a log or a root, perhaps, or possibly a stone—and Merlin’s foot caught on it without warning, sending him pitching forward before he could stop himself. He threw up his hands just before he hit the dirt, landing hard and rolling to one side in the grass, then promptly began to choke as the seed pods crushed beneath his weight let out a cloud of glittering pollen dust directly into his face.

 

Merlin had never really suffered from allergies himself, but there had been a woman back in Ealdor who used to wear a kerchief over her face during harvest time lest she start sneezing uncontrollably while out in the fields, and there were always a couple of people in Camelot who came to visit Gaius around that time of year, desperate for the tinctures he made to relieve them of their symptoms. Even so, Merlin's first thought in that moment was to wonder whether he had just been poisoned. A strange sort of heat seemed to flash through his veins, spreading rapidly through his body like an itch, and Merlin gave an involuntary moan, arching his back against the foreign sensation. The world was spinning dizzily around him, slightly out of focus, and he wanted—he _needed_ —

 

"Merlin?" Arthur bent fuzzily over him, and for an instant Merlin could only stare up at the prince, not sure exactly where he was or what they had been doing. "Are you all right?"

 

Arthur looked quite beautiful in this light. Not that there was any light in which Arthur _didn’t_ look beautiful; Merlin had noticed how gorgeous Arthur was practically the moment he’d set eyes on him. If he weren’t such a prat, Merlin would have kissed him long ago and damned the consequences. In fact, if he just came a little closer, Merlin would grab hold of him right now and—and—

 

Oh. Oh _shit_.

 

“It’s the pollen,” Merlin croaked urgently, pulling his neckerchief up belatedly to cover his nose and mouth. “Arthur? Whatever this plant is, it—it makes you feel things—” Not just feel things, Merlin realised, but _want_ things. Things that you should not, ever, by any stretch of the imagination allow yourself to want, because you had long ago decided they would never be possible. He could feel himself getting hard in his breeches, and a sense of mortification warred with the growing arousal that was flooding his body. There was no way Arthur could help noticing his predicament, not when Merlin was splayed out so obviously right in front of him, and had the prince been in his right mind Merlin would have expected some kind of scathing remark meant to put him firmly in his place, assuming Arthur deigned to acknowledge the situation at all.

 

But Arthur had kissed him, Merlin’s traitorous, pollen-drenched brain reminded him. Arthur had _kissed him_ , had devastated Merlin’s mouth with his tongue and held Merlin close as though he meant it. And now Merlin had no idea what to expect from the prince, although he knew exactly what it was that he was hoping for.

 

For a long moment, the two of them stared at one another. Arthur’s breathing was as rough as Merlin’s own, his hands clenched into uncertain fists at his sides. Then, slowly, Arthur knelt in the grass beside him. As if he knew exactly what Merlin had been thinking, the prince leaned in and pulled off Merlin’s neckerchief, discarding it in the grass without taking his eyes from Merlin’s face. His fingers skimmed over Merlin’s throat, sending shockwaves pulsing through his body as Arthur tilted his chin up, and then Arthur was kissing him again, hot and sweet on his cheeks, his throat, the corner of his mouth. Merlin’s eyes closed, all the breath leaving his lungs. What he was feeling could not be real; it was magically enhanced, that much was obvious. But it felt _so good_. 

 

“Arthur, _god_ —” he moaned. Arthur hummed in reply, nuzzling into the tender flesh at the base of Merlin’s neck, and Merlin made a garbled sound, unable to properly articulate any objection in the face of such a response. 

 

Distracted as he was, it took some time for Merlin to realise that while Arthur’s mouth was busy at his throat, his hands had been unknotting the ties of Merlin's breeches, pushing the fabric down around his thighs. The cool air on Merlin’s flushed cock made him squirm, and the prince took the opportunity to break away from him for a moment, sitting back on his haunches to regard Merlin with lust-darkened eyes. Merlin stared back at him, panting, trying to wrest control of his body from the desire that was singing through every nerve and sinew. They had to put a stop to this. _He_ had to put a stop to it, before he found himself unable to look Arthur in the eye ever again. It would really put a damper on this destiny business if he couldn’t be in the same room as the prince without a raging hard-on. He'd have to leave the castle. He'd have to—

 

“Arthur,” he began, but Arthur was moving again, shuffling forwards to straddle Merlin’s knees and pinning him to the grass with his weight. Merlin wriggled beneath him, aware of Arthur’s eyes on his face, that sharp, intense focus that preceded a strategic assault. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next, and he wanted— _God_ , how he wanted—but Arthur wouldn’t, Arthur couldn’t possibly— “Arthur— _oh_.”

 

Arthur pressed Merlin’s hips back into the dirt, his mouth sliding down Merlin’s prick as he took him in almost to the root. Merlin bucked, his fingers digging into the soft dirt beneath him. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck, _Arthur_ —”

 

Maybe it was the pollen, or maybe it was just because it was Arthur, but the slow glide of those lips along his cock was intoxicating, the flick of that tongue against Merlin’s slit enough to make him gasp. Arthur’s hands on his thighs, the heat of his mouth, the weight of him settled between Merlin’s legs: all of these seemed magnified, as if Merlin’s senses had been sharpened to dizzying heights by the drug in his system. He moaned as Arthur sucked him, his body shuddering and helpless under the sudden onslaught of feeling. Christ, Arthur was everywhere, his hands, his mouth, holding Merlin down as he swirled his tongue mercilessly around the head of his cock. 

 

“God—Arthur— _stop_ ,” Merlin groaned, pushing weakly at Arthur’s shoulders. “You’re not—you don’t want to do this. This isn’t you.”

 

“I think you’ll find that it is,” Arthur panted, pulling back long enough to look up at him. His cheeks were flushed and his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, his lips swollen and slick. He looked thoroughly debauched, and so lovely it made Merlin’s heart ache. “I’ve been wanting to do this since. Well. For a while now.”

 

He bit his lip at the admission and glanced away, and Merlin felt the last of his resistance—already tenuous thanks to the pollen—crumbling into nothing as he took in Arthur’s stricken face. “Come here,” he said, grabbing the prince’s tunic and hauling him upwards. They kissed messily, all teeth and spit and open mouths, the taste of pre-come bitter between them. “Me too,” Merlin whispered, his hands in Arthur’s hair. “Arthur. Me too.”

 

It somehow became urgent that they should be touching. Merlin fumbled for Arthur’s belt, yanking it off and throwing it into the field without bothering to look where it landed. Next he unlaced Arthur’s breeches and pushed them down to his knees, freeing Arthur’s cock from his small-clothes and reaching out greedily to touch. The prince made a wounded sound when Merlin stroked him, his head hanging down so that his forehead was nearly resting against Merlin’s chest, and for a moment, Merlin hesitated. There were so many things he wanted to do: he wanted to kiss Arthur, to fuck him, to spend the rest of his life on his knees in the middle of this glorious, god-forsaken field, letting Arthur take him again and again. But the part of his mind that remained unclouded by the pollen told him that he might only get one shot at this, and there was a royal retinue following close on their heels, so if they didn’t want to get caught they couldn’t drag things out, however much he might want to. 

 

“Come on,” Merlin said, deciding that, under the circumstances, simplicity was probably the better part of valour. He spread his legs a little so that Arthur’s cock could slide between them, gripping Arthur’s waist to guide him into place. “Fuck me like this. Come on.”

 

“Merlin—” Arthur sounded winded. “I—You—”

 

“Shh.” Merlin rolled his hips, letting Arthur feel the slow drag of his erection against his stomach. “It’s all right. Just move.”

 

Arthur let out another pained sound but did as he was told, settling into the gap between Merlin’s thighs. Merlin closed his eyes, not wanting to miss a second but unable to bear that look on Arthur’s face, the intent way he bit at his bottom lip as he moved, the way he couldn’t seem to avert his eyes from Merlin’s cock where it throbbed red and angry against his belly. The angle was too awkward for Arthur to do more than graze him with each pass, so Merlin took himself in hand, fumbling into the narrow space between their bodies and pushing up into his spit-slicked fist while Arthur rutted against him. He heard Arthur hiss between his teeth and risked a glance upwards, only to be pinned in place by the desperate blue of Arthur's eyes.

 

“Ar—Arthur.” Merlin groaned, his hand moving faster. He could see Arthur’s pupils darken, his breath coming in sharp spurts as he, too, sped up. “Arthur, yes, faster—want to feel you—”

 

“Gods, Merlin, don’t you ever _shut up_ ,” Arthur growled back at him, giving a particularly savage thrust that drove Merlin into the dirt and set his nerves on fire. “You and your— _stupid_ — _mouth_ —”

 

It was Arthur’s mouth, however, that did it in the end. Unable to reach Merlin’s lips, he shoved up Merlin's tunic and leaned down to bite at a nipple instead, his teeth grazing the sensitive areola before his tongue darted out to lick a stripe over the tip. Merlin shouted violently, his hand jerking as the sensation shocked through his system and went straight to his dick. It took only a few more strokes before he was spilling into his palm, mouth open and gasping, Arthur’s lips pressed soft and achingly sweet against his chest. He dimly registered a flock of startled birds taking flight from the trees closest to them, but most of his brain was taken up by the white-noise rush of orgasm, the hot spatter of semen on his stomach as he came in shuddering pulses between them.

 

Arthur came more quietly, letting out a low moan before his body stiffened over Merlin’s and his seed, too, mingled with Merlin’s own. He collapsed onto Merlin’s chest afterwards, sliding a little in the slick as he dragged himself forward far enough to kiss him. Merlin caught at his hair, tangling it with his fingers, and drew him close for a litany of slow, drugging kisses in the afterglow, unable to hold off touching Arthur even for a moment. He was lucid enough to admit that that probably wasn't because of the pollen, though—he had always wanted to keep touching Arthur.

 

“We should get up,” Arthur said at length, sounding as reluctant as Merlin felt. A velvet lassitude had stolen over his body, and although he was aware that both he and Arthur were filthy and completely dishevelled, the last thing he wanted to do was move.

 

“Do we have to?” Merlin whined. Arthur poked him, but the gesture was half-hearted at best, and Merlin bit his collarbone in retaliation, which ended up setting them off all over again.

 

Eventually, they managed it. Merlin helped Arthur put himself to rights, stealing kisses and struggling to work the laces with hands that, uncooperatively, seemed to only want to tear Arthur’s clothes off not put them back on again. It was like being drunk, a pleasant buzz that overlaid everything in a golden haze, but Merlin had an uneasy feeling that they would probably face a terrible hangover just as soon as the pollen wore off.

 

Finally, Arthur stepped back and they regarded each other. Arthur had grass in his hair; mud and pollen dust clung to his tunic, and he looked—well, he looked exactly as if he’d been rolling around in the grass for god knows how long, doing god knows what. 

 

“We can never—this never happened,” Arthur said, his voice sounding stilted. He looked down at his feet, then back up to Merlin’s face. “Not because—I didn’t want it to, but because—it can’t. You know that, don’t you?”

 

Merlin could only nod. “I know.”

 

“I wish—” He stopped. “Merlin, I—”

 

Merlin nodded even harder, hoping it would shut him up before he had to go and say the words. It was stupid, but somehow he thought that if he could just keep Arthur from saying it, then he might be able to deal with the inevitable. “It’s all right, Arthur. I know.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I know that, too.” Merlin brushed himself off, then turned to straighten Arthur’s clothes, unable to keep from lingering as his hands moved over the prince’s broad chest. Arthur said nothing, just leaned slightly into the touch, his eyes closed, and after a moment Merlin let his hands drop, taking a step back. 

 

“We should head back,” he said, turning to check that they hadn’t forgotten anything. He never wanted to come back to this cursed field as long as he lived. “We’ll need to tell the others to take a different route.”

 

“Agree.” Arthur gave an obvious shudder. “Can you imagine my father finding this field? Maybe I should send someone to burn it.”

 

“And risk this stuff getting into the atmosphere?” Merlin shook his head. “A fence might work. Or a sign, perhaps.”

 

“Provided the person who comes across it can read,” Arthur pointed out. He reached out to fiddle with Merlin’s neckerchief, tucking it back in beneath his collar and pulling off a couple of remaining seed pods that clung to the fabric. Merlin stood perfectly still, all too aware to the warmth of Arthur’s hands and how close they were to his skin.

 

“We’ll think of something,” Arthur said, without looking at him. “From now on, this field is officially off-limits in case of accidents. Hopefully the plants will die off and not grow back.”

 

“Yeah,” Merlin said, a heavy feeling settling into the pit of his stomach, as if something deep and terrible had just taken root. He had a feeling Arthur wasn't just talking about the flowers anymore. “Hopefully.”


End file.
